creepypasta x male reader oneshots

ticci toby x reader

idc if he's been tAkEn OuT oF tHe FaNdOm :]] suck ma ballz. alsoalso headz up! people with C.I.P.A. can still feel pleasure and pressure!!! ;]]] just not pain or temperature - just a #funfact for you all
[y/n] - do i really need to tell you?
[f/n] - friends name - prnz r they them so you can choose lolol

--

"Shit!" Grunting in playful frustration, [y/n] swung his legs over a fairly short brick wall, breaking off into a sprint as soon as his feet made contact with the concrete ground. A smile split across his lips as he chased after his good friend, [f/n]. "C'mere asshole!"
[f/n] was in hysterics as they ran, barely able to keep up a pace as their lungs struggled to keep a consistent oxygen supplying rhythm. They had managed to grab [y/n]'s soda and shake it without him noticing, causing the fizzy drink to explode upon opening. [y/n] was dripping head to toe with cold soda, and the winter breeze wasn't helping sustaining a healthy temperature.
"Give it up [y/n]! You're not gonna catch me any time soon!" [f/n] called out over their shoulder. [y/n] slowed down into a jog, eventually halting to a stop. He placed his hands onto his knees and took a few deep breaths. [f/n] was right. He wasn't very physically strong nor had a lot of endurance, but what he lacked in strength he made up in skill and agility. Short bursts of energy here and there - usually sparking up whenever [f/n] pulled a prank on him. But he had to be fast before they escaped his grasp.
Huffing in his spot, [y/n] watched as [f/n] jogged on the spot, still full of energy. "Man I need to start working out.." Standing upright, he cracked his knuckles and shivered at the realization on how cold it actually was now that he was drenched.
"Hey, let's go back inside." Already jogging back, [f/n] called to [y/n], noticing his shivering and look of distaste. 
[y/n] hummed in agreement, starting a slow-paced jog of his own to catch up to his friend, a smile on his face. "Yeah, lets."

--time skip to 9pm that night | [f/n]'s house--

A decision was made for [y/n] to crash at [f/n]'s house that night. It wasn't super late, but it was already dark outside and with the recent rise in kidnappings, [f/n] insisted that he stay there for the night, 'just to be sure' in their words. [y/n] knew better to argue with his concerned best friend, so grudgingly agreed. He would rather be in his own bed right now, his social battery and physical battery drained to the max. [f/n] was still a bag of energetic beans, and gave [y/n] no rest what-so-ever. Eventually things did die down and they had passed out half-on half-off their bed, and [y/n] was camped downstairs on the couch. 
"Thank fuck this thing is plush." A content hum escaped his throat as he let himself be absorbed in the thick soft cushions. He switched on the TV, the sudden glare from the TV causing the man to squint in protest. "Jesus Christ-.." After hastily turning the TV off, a sigh erupted.
Closing his heavy eyes, the faint smell of what seemed to be disinfectant wafted into the air. It made sense since everyone who lived in this house were ultra clean-freaks. Maybe that's what causes [f/n] to constantly be hyper - the constant presence of chemicals probably drugged them. [y/n] chuckled at the stupid thought, inhaling deeply. It was almost sweet. And stronger.
His eyes snapped open, confused. Why is it getting stronger. Sitting up on the couch, he scanned the room, confused and dazed. He still felt the flashbang effect the TV light had on him. Rubbing his organic field-scanners, he opened his eyes once again. Nothing unusual. Shaking his head, he blamed himself. Focusing on a smell would make you believe its stronger than what it is. Stupid brain things. 
"Mphhmmn!!!" A cold hand with a sickly-sweet soaked rag was slammed in front of his nose and mouth, the vapor from the rag burning his eyes. [y/n] struggled wildly, the back of his throat burning at the intensity of the chemical rag. The attackers free hand gripped [y/n]'s right wrist yanking him back so his back met the couch; [y/n]'s left hand gripped pathetically at the hand that held the cloth. Cries and profanities were absorbed and muffled by the cloth, for nobody to hear. What went on that seemed hours was only a mere five minutes. Eventually [y/n] was overwhelmed and rendered unconscious, slumping forwards. Was he not held in place, he would have fallen off the couch face first onto the polished oak coffee table.